The Never-Rick and Morty Story
by Sillycritter
Summary: Morty Smith's your average kid...who writes crazy stories about his space grandpa. Except they're not just stories. They're not stories at all...And Morty's about to find out the truth! Spoilers for Seasons 1-3.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey MOOOrty!"

Just focus on the text. Just tune them out.

"MOoooorty!"

Stupid idiot Frank.

The guy just wouldn't leave him alone. He was like a second shadow, one that was constantly calling you names and making you hate yourself and think you were crazy. "Hey MOOORty! How, how come your crazy Space Grandpa isn't here to protect you?"

Morty shut his eyes and just kept walking. Just tune him out, and he'll go away.

"Oh THAT'S right!" Frank sneered, closing in, "that's because he doesn't exist! He's all in your mind! Because you made him up. Isn't that right, MORty?"

"Sh-sh-sh-SHUT UP, FRANK!" Morty gritted his teeth and tried to stand tall.

Except he wasn't tall. He was the shortest kid in his class. He was fourteen years old but he might as well be eight. And of course Frank was the tallest in his class. He towered over Morty, making him seem even more intimidating than he already was.

"Oooo! I'm reallly scared now!" Frank had him backed up against the lockers, breathing sardines from lunch in his face. It made Morty want to throw up, but he didn't run away. He stood his ground, but Frank came drawing closer. "You-you got me shaking in my boots, MORty! Hey! Maybe you should use-that, like, special ray gun you have!"

Morty's face grew red. "I-I don't have any-"

"That's RIGHT you don't have any!" Frank crowed, "because you MADE IT UP!"

"NO!" Morty blurted out, "I di-di-di-di-DIDN'T! My Grandpa Rick is REAL!"

"Suuuure kid." Frank just rolled his eyes as he placed two hands on either side of Morty's small frame, blocking him. "Just keep on telling yourself that. That'll make it ALL better."

"STOP it, Frank!"

Morty's face grew very red now: that was not just anyone's voice. That was a GIRL'S voice.

 _Jessica…_. His secret love….he couldn't believe it, he was trying to protect him! But Morty didn't want protecting. He wanted to stand up for himself for once, dammit. Except the moment he heard her voice, he couldn't move. He was frozen in place just by the sight of her.

Jessica walked right up to Frank.

"Leave him alone," she hissed in his face.

Frank just glared at her. "Or what?" he hissed back after a moment. "What you gonna do about it? You're just a girl!"

"I'm not 'just' anything!" snapped Jessica, and Morty's jaw dropped as she defensively flipped her flowing red hair in his face. "And you're just a bully!"

Morty stayed very, very still in the silence that followed. He knew that any move he made right now could either make or break his chances with Jessica.

"So?" Jessica glowered at Frank who was strangely silent, glowering right back. "What's it gonna be?"

Another very tense moment passed, during which Morty was grateful he didn't wet himself.

"Whimps." That was all Frank said in return, as he turned sharply on his heel and walked away without another word to either one of them.

Jessica breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face her friend. Now that they were alone, Morty felt very very embarrassed. He didn't want a girl fighting his battles for him. He wanted to thank her, but he wasn't sure what to say, and if he did know, he doubted he'd have the courage to say it anyhow. He was already a very nervous speaker, and even more nervous when it came to talking to girls...especially someone he really, really liked.

"Y-you…." He swallowed hard as he faced her. "You….didn't have to do that, Jessica…."

"I know that, Morty." Jessica looked apologetic but determined. "But he can't just go around treating people like that."

"I-I can stand up for myself….you know." Morty felt suddenly very defeated. He slumped back heavily against the locker; his legs felt too weak to support himself. He wanted to crawl into one of them and never come out.

"You know what Morty?" Jessica smiled at him. "You should write more stories about your Grandpa Rick."

"They-they're not just stories Je-Jessica." Morty argued back weakly, but he was too exhausted to say more. How could he explain to his secret crush that his Mom had told him his grandpa was a brilliant scientist and inventor? So what if he had abandoned his daughter at a young age in the name of science? From what she said, he'd invented pretty cool things all on his own. He'd even helped build a real plane once. It wasn't too far of a stretch to think he could build his own fully functional spaceship and portal gun too, right?

"I know that Morty." Jessica spoke softly and, to his astonishment, she suddenly placed her hand on his shoulder. "They mean a lot to you...don't they."

"Uhuh." Morty nodded dumbly, kicking himself for how stupid he sounded. God, he was so stupid! Why couldn't he ever talk right around girls? Why couldn't he ever talk right around anybody? Was it because of what everyone had always said about him-that he was "Different"-that he couldn't seem to act like normal people?

Her hand was still on his shoulder, and even though it felt warm, Morty still shivered at the touch.

Jessica was looking deeply into his eyes.

Morty looked back into hers and swallowed.

Then, she gave his shoulder a tight squeeze, and he nearly fainted with surprise.

And when she leaned in closer, he thought that he might faint.

But she didn't kiss him. She whispered in his ear three simple words. "Keep writing Morty," Jessica said.

By the time he opened his eyes, she was gone, and the hallway was filled with kids again, and once more, he was alone.

* * *

It was boring being Morty Smith. Everyday was pretty much the same. He had a routine whenever he got home. Get a snack, do his homework, play some video games, then watch TV. He never did anything with anyone else really; they all did their own thing, and he was left to his own devices more often than not until dinnertime.

His mother worked late at the veterinary hospital where she worked as a senior horse surgeon. His dad might help him with his homework if he asked, but otherwise, he was either watching TV in the den or doing whatever grownups did alone in the bedroom. Morty knew better than to intrude. His sister was usually too engrossed in phone calls with friends or with boys or she was on her phone playing games or texting. (This didn't really bother him as they didn't really have too much in common anyway.)

So Morty bided his time until dinner, during which the family struggled to maintain some form of meaningful conversation with each other before promptly scattering to the four winds right after the meal was done.

After dinner was his favorite time of the day. Because after dinner was when Morty locked himself in his room and wrote until his fingers grew tired from writing and he fell asleep most nights drooling onto his notebook.

When he read his own writing in the morning before going to school for the day, Morty was often amazed at his own words. It wasn't that he thought his writing was the greatest-in fact he didn't think he really had that great a vocabulary-but the stories themselves seemed like something someone else had made up…..not him! Some stories were funny, but others were terrifying….He wasn't sure if the Grandpa he was getting to know in these stories was the hero or the villain. Some made him laugh. Others brought him close to tears, and some of them actually did even make him start to cry.

He wanted to share these stories with his mom, but he was afraid….What if they made her angry? He'd wanted Granpda Rick to come across as likeable. But in the end, Morty began to feel an unexpected and overwhelming disgust towards his own semi-fictional character. He didn't want his mother to think he hated his own family member-but how could he hate one that he'd never even met?

His mother didn't even have any pictures of him. In the stories, Rick had crazy bright blue hair…..though Morty wasn't sure why he'd chosen such a thing. He was also an alcoholic, which he doubted his mother would approve of. She'd never once mentioned anything about alcoholism running in the family, though both Morty and Summer had caught their mother in a horribly drunken state on more than one occasion.

His mother also didn't like to talk about her dad much. The one time she had was on Morty's thirteenth birthday. She'd taken him out to the backyard so that she could bestow upon him a very special present: the only present that her dad had ever given to her. It was a telescope. "You always wanted to see the moon," she smiled at him proudly, beaming as she unveiled the gift, "now, you can!"

"Awww COOOL!" Morty cried out, completely flabbergasted that they'd even trust him with something like this. "This is really MINE!?" He didn't stutter; he was too overwhelmed with excitement as he admired the gift.

"Great," Summer snickered from behind him, "Now he can be even more of a nerd than he already is! Way to go guys."

"Q-QUIET-S-S- _SUMMER_!" Morty snapped at her, but his sister just rolled her eyes.

His Dad put a proud arm around Morty. "She's just jealous, son," he noted with a conspiratorial wink, "because you got the more expensive gift this year."

"Do you like it?" His mother smiled proudly at him as well, eagerly awaiting an answer.

"I-it's AWESOME," Morty breathed. "Thanks Mom! Dad! Hey! Can we set it up tonight?"

"Sure!" Jerry Smith grinned excitedly, "It's supposed to be a clear night, I don't see why not!"

"It's a warm night," his mother added, "how about a barbeque?"

"Alright!" Morty whooped.

That night they were able to see more than just the Moon; they even saw Saturn's rings and Jupiter's colors. They cooked hot dogs and hamburgers and ate dinner together under the stars. It was the best gift that Morty Smith had ever hoped to have.

There would have been only one way that his birthday could have been better: which was if his Grandpa Rick could have been there…..but Morty knew that was just a pipe dream….because he didn't even know if his grandpa was alive or dead….nobody liked to talk about him….and so Morty got to know him the only way he knew how….through stories….and his own mind.

 _ **To be continued...Rick and Morty for 100 years! ~**_


	2. Chapter 2

It all started with a writing assignment for Mrs. Kane's eighth period English class.

They were reading Ray Bradbury's "The Martian Chronicles", and their job was to write a sci fi story. Usually Morty hated writing, but this was Mrs. Kane-she was his favorite teacher at Harry Herpson High. There was nobody like Mrs. Kane: she was always a fair grader, she never judged, and she always listened to whatever he had to say.

Writing had never been easy for Morty. He'd gotten diagnosed as dyslexic that year, and it wasn't just reading that made his head hurt….When he got home the day she gave out the assignment, he was so worried he almost went to his dad for help….but he doubted his father could be of much use, as he mainly just read the newspaper at breakfast as a form of literature. The rest of the family probably could have cared less. Morty went straight to his room without getting a snack that day. He didn't watch tv or play video games like he usually did. Instead, Morty crawled into bed before dinnertime, fully clothed, and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

He awoke several hours later with a start, his heart beating wildly in his chest, excitement filling his soul-who was that man? That man in his dream? The man with the crazy eyes and the wild electric blue hair? He was so strange, this man, that Morty felt was somehow-familiar….He was acting strange-slurring his words-driving a-a-SPACESHIP? He knew Morty, too….he kept on saying his name, repeatedly, sometimes even burping it as he talked-

Morty's eyes widened, as he realized at once: THERE was his sci-fi character!

He leapt out of bed and immediately snatched a blank notebook from his desk and a pen. He began to write and kept writing, the words seemingly pouring from his fingertips with ease as he jotted them down at an unusual speed. The man-he didn't have a name for him yet-made him laugh so hard it hurt-made him laugh until he cried.

There was only one thing to make this story even better, Morty thought: I'll just pretend that he's my Grandpa…..He only knew a few things about his grandfather: one of them being his name, Rick Sanchez.

Morty smiled to himself at the idea of riding around in a spaceship….a spaceship his Grandpa Rick built with his own bare hands….Nobody had a space-traveling grandfather! And nobody certainly had a grandfather that had built their own spaceship out of things he found lying around the garage….It was something that anyone could do if they had the right knowledge and the right tools…

The world he was painting was a strange and exciting one, filled with all kinds of crazy creatures, and places to travel to, even different dimensions…

In reality Morty had never traveled anywhere. The Morty he wrote about in the story was a better Morty than he was, because this Morty was fearless in everything he did. He was brave and ready for any challenge that came his way. Sure, he still stuttered, but that didn't matter, because he was important. He was special. He was Grandpa Rick's assistant, and together, they traveled all over the universe, and the multiverse, and fought the bad guys and they always won-no matter what, it was Rick and Morty, Rick and Morty forever a hundred years, Forever a hundred years Rick and , www. , 100 years rick and morty-

Wait- _what?_

Morty rubbed his tired eyes. It was way past dinnertime. His mom had knocked on his door, but he had yelled back that he wasn't hungry, he had a stomach ache; she left him alone after that. It was about 10 pm now and he was exhausted. His fingers hurt from so much writing. Flipping through the book, Morty was surprised to find that he'd written at least 5 pages worth. That was a lot for him. (Mrs. Kane was going to be impressed.)

He didn't show the writing to anyone else, already nervous about having to read his story in class. The project was due on Friday, which meant he had two full days of waiting. When the day finally came he was so nervous he had barely slept the night before. He stood in front of the class and tried his best not to stutter. The class cracked up at the part where they were going in search of an intergalactic fruit known as Mega Seeds. When he read his grandfather's instructions, "When we get to customs, I'm gonna need you to take these seeds into the bathroom. And I'm gonna need you to put them way up inside your butthole Morty-"

"MORTY!" Mrs. Kane's face was bright red. "That's enough!"

Morty's face turned beet red as well, and realized he'd made a big mistake. The class was roaring.

"Your Space Grandpa's a perv!" someone in the back shouted.

"Yeah only an IDIOT would stick seeds up their butt!" another student cackled hysterically.

"I bet he got off on it!" someone else roared.

"STUDENTS!" Mrs. Kane was desperately trying to regain order of her classroom, but to no avail. "STUDENTS! Enough! Morty please take a seat. I want to see you after class."

"Maybe she's gonna ask you to stick some seeds up your butt," someone whispered to Morty as he slowly trudged, head hung low, crestfallen, back to his seat in the back of the room.

When he approached Mrs. Kane after class as instructed, she wouldn't look at him, and she simply handed him a note. The note said, "Please rewrite your story to contain appropriate language and make sure it is turned in by Monday."

Morty's shoulders sank-he'd done exactly what he hadn't wanted to do. He'd let his favorite teacher down and embarrassed himself in front of the whole class.

* * *

News got around quickly, and pretty soon everyone knew about Morty's imaginary "space grandpa", including Frank, who was in a different grade, and wasted no time in making Morty suffer for it.

Even Summer, at dinner, brought up the incident. "Did you guys know Morty's been talking about having a "Space Grandpa" in English class?" she asked casually one evening at the dinner table.

"S-shut UP, _SUMMER_!" Morty snapped, glaring at her dangerously. (Why couldn't she ever just stay out of his business.

" 'Space...Grandpa'?" Jerry Smith echoed his daughter's words with confusion, before shooting Morty an even more confused look. "What's this about, son?" His father's question was posed innocently, but it still made Morty stew with vengeful rage towards his super annoying (and nosy) older sibling.

To Morty's surprise it was his mother who immediately chimed in, "OH, Jerry, you know our son just has a wonderful imagination-let's just let him be himself-shall we?" She gave Morty's shoulder a gentle squeeze, along with an understanding smile; usually this helped, and it did a little, but Morty just wanted to hide.

"It...it's nothing," Morty mumbled to his lap, "it's...just a stupid assignment for class.'

"You know people already think you're a dork," Summer piped in as she kept on texting, not once looking up from her phone as she spoke. "How about not giving them a reason?"

"SHUT. _UP_. _**SUMMER!**_ " Morty hissed this time with emphasis. He was practically ready to explode.

"Morty," his mother cut in quickly, "why don't you help clear the table? We're having my famous Pumpkin Pie for dessert! Help me get things ready in the kitchen will you?"

She didn't wait for him to answer as she started clearing her plate and Summer's. Morty continued to glare at his sister's direction all the way to the kitchen as he carried his plate along with his father's.

"Morty…." Once they were alone, his mother turned towards him hesitantly. "You know….that none of that stuff about Dad is true...right?"

"Yeah, Mom." Morty rolled his eyes with annoyance as he did the dishes. "You don't have to t-tell me that!"

"Okay Morty. I only ask because-" His mother hesitated even longer this time, prompting Morty to pause mid-wash. "Because….you know the difference between fact, and fiction….right?"

"Yeah I know Mom," Morty muttered. "Grandpa's a scientist-he left when you were six-sixteen-right? S-something like that?"

"Yes Morty." Beth Smith sounded somber and Morty kicked himself mentally for even bringing it up. "That's right," his mother concluded softly. "Now….come and have some pie with us before you go off to your bedroom for the night….okay?" She gave him a squeeze this time around both of his shoulders; she knew teenage boys liked their space and weren't much into hugs; what she didn't know was how much Morty still appreciated them.

"Yeah. Okay," he agreed.

The story would have to wait.

* * *

It wasn't until a few days later, after Morty had turned in his much altered assignment to Mrs. Kane's liking, that things began to get a little…..weird.

"Hey MOOORty!"

Shit-Frank.

"MOOORty!"

"Go away Frank," Morty snapped as he entered the code to his locker.

"Or what?" Frank jabbed him so hard in the back that Morty had to wince. "You're gonna make me walk the plank?"

"-H-Huh…?" Morty was so confused he had to turn around and face his bully.

"YOU know," Frank chided him with a heavy roll of the eyes, "the whole pirate getup? The eyepatch thingy? Whuddya think, Jessica's into pirates or some shit? Get real bro, she doesn't think that way-no girl in their right mind would-like they would want a little shrimp like you anyways!"

"Huh?" It was all Morty could think of to say. He was completely flabbergasted by this line of questioning. "What-what are you talking about-!? I-I don't think I'm a pirate!"

"HEY," Frank jabbed him again-this time so hard that Morty visibly flinched, "where's your eyepatch thingy?" Frank leaned in so close they were practically touching noses. "I bet you're some real sicko who only wears it to impress the ladies!"

"What!?" Morty yelped, "NOI I-I really don't know what you're-"

"What's going on here?" It was Mr. Vagina, the prinicpal.

"Oh-nothing Sir." Frank was playing innocent, just like always. "We were just-ya know-chatting about-personal stuff-right, MORTY?"

"Sure. Yeah. That's right Frank." Morty automatically responded. "We were-discussing uhhh-"

"The school dance," Frank inserted, "I'm taking Morty to the dance!"

"What!?" Morty blurted out but Frank immediately covered his mouth.

"Ummm...ooookay…." Principal Vagina looked downright embarrassed. "We here at Harry Herpson High embrace all definitions of gender and sexual-er-identity…."

"I-I gotta go to the bathroom!" Morty blurted out as he somehow managed to jerk himself free, and before Frank could stop him, he took off running down the hall.

After hiding in the stall (and promptly missing the bus) Morty headed back to his locker, which was thankfully in a (now) empty hallway.

However, what wasn't empty, surprisingly, was his locker: because inside, he found a very curious note.

A piece of plain white paper was taped to the back of his locker. Written in a childish scrawl were the words: " _ **I AM YOUR OWN WORST NIGHTMARE."**_ There was no signature. It was probably from Frank.

Morty was amazed he'd actually figured out the code to his locker….but then again bullies somehow figured out these things whether you wanted them to or not.

He took the note and, not sure what to do with it, he stuffed it deep into the bottom of his bookbag. The note itself terrified him, but as there was no way he could figure out who had written it, it was best to leave it alone; he would have to try not to think about it.

So Morty walked home, where, exhausted, he once again immediately went to his room and fell asleep. He left the note in the very bottom of his book bag, where it remained, useless and forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

"You can run, but you can't hide, BIIIITCH!"

Morty ran anyway-as fast as his legs and feet would let him. (Why take a psychotic monster's word for it?) If he didn't try to hide, this crazy creature-who actually had knives for fingers-was going to capture him, and torture him….or even worse- _kill him_.

So he ran-ran like the dickens-ran like mad through the maze of metallic hallways-it looked like he was on some kind of a futuristic sort of ship-a space ship, maybe?-and this _thing_ was chasing him. He was not too far behind. And he was angry.

 _What did I do?_ Morty couldn't help but ask himself in desperation as he ran. He couldn't remember pissing the guy off-hell, somehow, he wasn't even able to recall how he'd found his way there in the first place! (But what Morty also couldn't remember was this was the kind of thing that often happened when you were dreaming...because Morty was having a dream….or rather….more like the mother of all nightmares….)

"I'm SCARY TERRY BIIIITCH!" the creature was shouting at the top of his lungs, the echo ricocheting off the walls and assaulting Morty's eardrums,  
"YOU BETTER DO AS I SAY!"

' _Scary Terry'?_ Morty had never heard of the name in his life. Somehow this monster thought he was the one in charge. Morty supposed right then that he was. He was scared shitless.

He was about to turn the corner when he heard a loud screech exploding from the creature's lungs. Morty managed to sneak a terrified look over his shoulder, only to bare witness to an even bigger shock: Scary Terry was lying motionless on the floor, a trail of smoke still leaking out of the hole in his head-and there, standing not too far from him was-HIMSELF?

Morty gasped in shock and all but fell over in his astonishment. He hit his head on the slick metal floor, nearly rendering himself unconscious. When, groaning in pain, he finally managed to open his eyes again, he was met with his own face staring down at him-

"AHHH!" Morty screamed. He nearly shit himself when his mirror image gripped his arm, hard, holding him down with one hand and covering his mouth with the other-in his panic and shock Morty did the only thing he could think of to do which was bite down on the other's hand-HARD.

"FUCK!" His own reflection yelped in pain, quickly retracting his hand before glaring darkly down at Morty through his one good eye.

Morty shivered, terrified. _He's going to kill me. Wake up wake up wake up wake up-_

Now he was being held down roughly with both his captor's hands. It hurt-but how could that be? None of this was real-

"It would serve you well to behave yourself." His captor spoke calmly and collectively, as if they were just talking about the weather. "You will just make the torture last longer if you struggle."

Morty tried to scream but no sound came out; he could feel the other's breath on his face; it was sickly sweet, and he wanted to vomit. "Who….who are you?" he whispered.

"I am the 'One True Morty'," the Evil One said. "You are to do as I say. And only as I say."

"Wh-wh-what do you want?" Morty asked, almost out of breath.

"You," said the One True Morty, "and….your Rick."

"My….who?" Morty was never able to get an answer-because suddenly his captor was grabbed from behind by two giant red hands with knives for fingers-It was Scary Terry!

"DON'T THINK YOU CAN KILL ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT, BIIIITCH!"

The One True Morty screamed, and Morty took this moment to run for his life. He ran with all the energy he could muster, he ran until his legs gave out from under him, and then the bell rang-

Wait a second-where was that relentlessly obnoxious ringing sound coming from?

And Morty opened his eyes to the shock of daylight streaming in through his window and the shrill squealing of the alarm that sat on his nightstand.

A huge sigh of relief escaped him: he was SAVED…..literally saved, by the bell.

He could still feel the grip of the Evil One's palms on his wrists…..strangely enough, they actually felt a bit….strange. He felt a bit strange. Even so, he still had school, and he had a test that day in math class, and he knew his parents would have a fit if he didn't go…..

But the words of the Evil One stayed with him throughout the day. "I want you….and your Rick…" he'd said. "I am the One True Morty…."

What could that even possibly mean? Morty kept asking himself but to no avail. As far as he was concerned, he was the only Morty there was.

He was even more confused when Jessica came up to him at the end of the day when he was at his locker. "Morty!" she exclaimed, pointing at his face, "how did your eye heal so quickly!?"

"H-huh?" Morty was baffled "M-my eye?"

"Yeah-the eyepatch, remember?" Jessica looked just a confused by his reaction. "You were wearing it when I saw you in the hallway yesterday."

"In the hall?" Morty echoed, suddenly feeling very uneasy. "I-I don't know what you're talking a-about, Jessica…."

"You didn't say hello to me." She was looking away from him then, at the floor….and she sounded upset….Morty didn't know what to say; how to respond. He'd never seen her like this before. It worried him….and scared him too, because he couldn't remember this interaction.

"A-are you sure that was me?" he asked hesitantly after a very rather awkward moment of silence. "I-I wouldn't just ignore you."

"Yes." She sounded sad now as she glanced solemnly off to the side, and the look on her face made his stomach do flip flops. "It was you….you sounded….strange….like….you didn't know me, at all…."

"Th-then it _couldn't_ have been me!" Morty exclaimed out of frustration, in spite of himself, "I-I wouldn't ever do that, Jessica-"

"Apparently," Jessica shook her head sadly as she took a book out of her locker and shut it, "you would. Goodbye….Morty." With that, before he could stop her, she'd turned and walked in the opposite direction, swallowed up by the crowd.

"Wait-J-Jessica!" Morty cried out, "I-I wouldn't-I-I couldn't-just-I-" Defeated, Morty stopped talking when he realized nobody was listening. Once again he was standing in the hallway surrounded by people, yet forever alone.

 **A/N: So, who remembers "Scary Terry" isn't actually so scary once you get to know him? (If you don't, just watch Season 1, Episode 2: "Lawnmower Dog".) Sometimes things get worse before it gets better. Thanks for reading. More to come soon!**


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